


Stitch These Wounds

by goldenforestprince



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Coffee, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fist Fights, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nicknames, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Suicide Attempt, Surprise Kissing, because we all know wherever Frank is there's going to be coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 21:23:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11540694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenforestprince/pseuds/goldenforestprince
Summary: Hydra has made it clear that they want the Winter Soldier back at all costs. More and more lives are being taken in the pursuit of Bucky Barnes, who’s safely tucked away under Shield’s watchful eye. But when even the people protecting him begin to question whether it would be worth just handing him over to Hydra, Bucky takes matters into his own hands, and makes a choice that he feels is the only way for the violence to end.Except there’s one very opinionated individual who disagrees with this choice. And he won’t be silenced on the matter.





	Stitch These Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I will single-handedly build this ship with my own two hands if it kills me.

The tall grass swayed in the wind as Bucky walked up the long, winding driveway. Out wide in the open, the location was perfect; nobody would think to check an old, dilapidated farmhouse for the Winter Soldier when he was discovered to be missing. Especially one that was hardly hidden from sight. But it worked more in his favor than theirs, since it meant that if someone did decide to check out the expansive property, he could also see for miles and miles and get his arsenal prepared in time to meet the unwanted visitors with gunfire.

The gravel crunched under his boots, the only sound accompanying the growing evening wind. A single hatchback drove by, the one car on the miles long stretch of road, and Bucky pulled his cap a little lower. It was so different out here than back in the city, where there was always noise and light and motion, a ceaseless wave of input that damn near drove him insane at times. But out here, there was nothing but silence and space.

Bucky knew he had chosen the right place.

It hadn’t just been the constant stream of distractions that had chased him off, either. Hydra had been on the rise, and it hadn’t been pretty. The last eight months were spent with Shield doing damage control, trying to hide the events that were becoming increasingly hard to step around or altogether deny. Hydra were demanding that the Avengers hand Bucky over, raising the stakes higher and higher with more and more casualties, until finally Steve had nearly gotten killed trying to take out a base without anybody else knowing about it, thinking that he could take on the threat better on his own. Bucky hadn’t slept for a week after that, refusing to let Steve out of his sight, and all the while refusing to say a single word, either.

Shield, while they were doing incredible work covering up the clear disasters that were blamed on the Winter Soldier, were noticeably less skilled in handling the relevant party. Fury had made it clear that they weren’t about to hand over Barnes, but between the bombs, the shootings, and all the disasters in between, the growing number of people that had been hurt simply couldn’t be denied, and there were whispers wondering how bad it would be if they did just pack him up and ship him to Hydra. Because then, at least Hydra would have what they wanted, and nobody else would be hurt. Because of him.

Between Fury and Hill, they had done what they could about that, mostly meaning they tried to keep word away from Barnes and reprimand the guilty parties, but the damage had been done. For everyone’s sake, Bucky had been quarantined and kept in near isolation in a part of the Avengers tower that had originally been built for Banner. “Safer this way,” Fury had said, but the clear distaste on his features hadn’t been lost on Bucky. In the cell, Bucky had all of his needs met, but no matter how many people Steve subsequently tried to convince and coerce and finally outright threaten, nothing changed, and he remained locked up in a cage originally built for the Hulk. People were scared of Hydra, but they were even more terrified of what Bucky could do if he fell back into their clutches, and they were willing to do whatever it took to quell that fear.

Even if it meant imprisoning him. 

So he broke out. He had tried playing it their way for a time, watching people pass by his cell while they pretended to be busy with papers or phones or whatever it took to avoid looking him in the eye. The guilt that chased after everyone involved was practically tangible, and it ate at Bucky’s gut, because he knew that they were right. If Hydra found a way to get to him, he could just snap. And even if they didn’t, nothing was saying he wouldn’t go cold and do it anyway. Nobody knew as well as he did how dangerous he was. He had thought he could live a normal, if cautious life, but it was becoming increasingly clear that it was falling further outside his reach every time Hydra pumped another innocent civilian full of lead in his name. It was never going to happen. 

Steve was the only person who saw even a hint of the battle that was going on inside Bucky’s head. Every day, the Avenger made sure to visit him, opening the double set of bulletproof doors against everyone’s urges, to make sure Bucky was as happy as he could be given the situation. And every day, Bucky told him the same lie, and said that he was fine, until one night when the itching under his skin and the buzzing in his head became too much to handle. The screws within the walls had come undone easily enough, which meant the sensors within the glass never set off the alarm. He had grabbed no more than a half-packed duffle bag, filled with just enough to get him someplace else, before slipping out one of the underground parking lots. He hadn’t even been able to bring himself to say goodbye to Steve, in the off chance that the Avenger tried to stop him. There was only one way this would end, and he wouldn’t let this last choice be stolen from him like everything else.

So now, as Bucky breathed in fresh air hundreds of miles away from any taste of the city, so dry and arid that it felt like dust in his lungs, he knew he had made the right choice. He walked up to the chain link fence that surrounded the house, an old, rusted mess of iron that creaked in the wind. His eyes traveled the length of it, content to see that any passers-by, as unlikely as their presence may be, wouldn’t be able to see into the house. And with hands that trembled only slightly, he opened the gate and stepped inside, closing it with a sharp click that resounded with intimidating finality as steel rang against steel. 

He made his way to the front door, the steady racing in his chest finally receding to a quieter rhythm. His heart had hammered the entire journey here, but now that he stepped beneath the frame of the red door, with paint that bubbled and peeled like old blisters, he found it had steadied and calmed. He finally had a choice that was his to make. And he wouldn’t let it go to waste.

Bucky let out a weary sigh as he leaned against the closed door, his eyes closing briefly. When they opened once more, his eyes adjusted easily enough to the long shadows thrown across the room as he took them in. The inside of the house was just as uncared for as the outside, covered in either dust or rust or mold depending on the surface. But between the isolation and the silence that staved off the distant ringing in his ears from all the wind, it was almost serene. Bucky knew this was where he needed to be. The tension of being caught between Shield and Hydra had reached a fever pitch, and he was almost glad he wouldn’t be around to see the outcome of it all. They could work it out on their own, without him caught up in the fray.

After taking a look around the small home, Bucky placed the duffel bag gently onto the dining room table, taking the cap off and placing it just to the side. He took equal care in taking off the faded red hoodie, folding it and laying it carefully over one of the chairs. He took a seat, the wood of the chair groaning beneath him, but it otherwise held strong, and Bucky could appreciate the craftsmanship of it, especially after so many years of disuse. The view of the setting sun was spectacular from where he sat, a landscape of gold and rose and a heavy-handed splash of red that seemed all too revealing.

It was in this cloudless sky that Bucky finally found solace, after so many months of anger and uncertainty and guilt. People had died because of him when he had been controlled by Hydra. And now even more were dying now that he was free of them. And there was nothing he could say that would ever make it stop. People were taking sides, and the death toll was steadily rising higher and higher the longer it went on. Half of Shield wanted to give him up to Hydra, and the other half were willing to die to defend him. It was a firefight that only he could end. 

The hours stretched by as Bucky let the thoughts drift in and out, giving them hardly any thought as he took in every detail of the setting sun. The only sound in the empty house was the steady breathing in Bucky’s chest, a slow flow of in and out that was soothing all on its own as the dusken rays turned his pale skin to gold. Even the breeze that drifted in seemed to want to lull him into a haze with the soft caresses against his skin. The warm palette of the sky reflected in his eyes, transforming the blue into a vibrant seafoam that only accentuated the tears that grew behind them, turning the cloudless sky into a golden blur. He didn’t even realize they were there until one slid down his cheek, salty and warm against his skin. 

Slowly, one by one, the stars began to appear high above the horizon as dusk gave way to night. And then at last, Bucky sat in total darkness, with nothing but a hint of silver moonlight pouring into the room to let him see. With a shuddering breath, he finally allowed his gaze to move away from the window and down to the worn duffel bag before him. It was time. 

His flesh fingers moved with a stiffness that his metal limb couldn’t echo. Bucky reached down to open the bag, feeling the zipper drag over each metal tooth as he pulled it open. He pulled out a large pistol, moonlight reflecting in the polished steel, and reached back in to pull out the one clip of ammo he had brought with him. Loading the gun was an easy enough motion, one that made him taste iron as the muscle memory kicked in. He could have done it blind. Now, he could never hurt anybody again, and he found that the realization filled him with something that could have felt like peace.

Bucky’s eyes traveled back up towards the starry sky. The tears flowed freely now, traveling down gaunt cheeks and soaking the neck of his tee. He took a moment to steel himself, filling his lungs completely and breathing out in a slow and steady breath. He couldn’t afford to change his mind now. He’d come too far.

He reached down for the pistol. The trembling in his hands worsened as his fingers closed around it, and he nearly dropped it back onto the table. For a while, he just stared numbly, as if he’d lost control of his hand. Flashes passed before his eyes; of Steve, before and after the serum, of Natasha and their time in the red room, of the lonely days and quiet nights from all the months he spent at the Avengers tower. He had joined the war to keep people safe, and instead he had been used to kill the very people he had been trying to protect, for longer than some of the victims had even been alive. They had trusted him to do his duty as a soldier, and he had failed. There was so much blood on his hands, and he could never hope to wipe them clean and live a normal life. Hydra had taken everything from him, and would continue to do so until he was back within their grasp.

He’d never give them that chance again.

When the shaking in his hand finally lessened, Bucky tightened his grip on the pistol and steeled himself. His gaze traveled back up to the window and the starlit sky that crowned the mountains far in the distance. He allowed himself to become lost in what comfort it provided. Then, he lifted the gun to his temple, swallowing thickly, and let out a shaky breath.

For the last time, Bucky closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

The sound of the gunshot rang out into the room as the bullet pierced into the wall. A hand wrapped around Bucky's at the last second and yanked the gun away from his head, before trying to wrench the gun from his iron grip. The bullet skimmed past Bucky's eyebrow, missing the mark completely, and left an open wound that sprayed blood as the molten lead passed. Without waiting for the intruder to make another move, Bucky leaned back to crash his elbow into the intruder's jaw and tore himself away from the grip, standing to bolt across the room. He whipped back around and swung the gun back up to his temple.

He wouldn't have this last choice taken from him. Not after how much it had taken him to make it this far.

He would never go back.

Bucky blinked against the shadows that moved across the figure, stunned when his gaze adjusted and he saw the obsidian eyes and tense jaw. The last person he had expected to see was Frank Castle. Bucky's wild, blood speckled gaze widened and he took a step back, grip tightening around the gun and daring the man to move. But Frank moved just as lightning fast, and by the time Bucky was back to standing, so was he. The leather jacket creaked as the man shot up, pulling out a pistol of his own. Bucky's heart raced as he followed the movement. The gun Frank pulled out didn't point anywhere near Bucky. Instead, Frank raised it to aim at the side of his own head, mimicking Bucky's stance with a dark glare that held no hesitation. Bucky's jaw dropped and he felt like his heart would stop. Frank wouldn't. He couldn't. But he was all too aware that Frank knew he couldn't win this by force, and from what Bucky had heard of him, he couldn't say for sure if the threat was a bluff. The Punisher held no punches, but did that mindset include himself?

Frank's jaw tensed visibly when Bucky didn't move, still fighting to catch his breath. His gaze was focused, so much so that had he not been the one holding it, Bucky would have thought he wouldn't have even known the gun was an inch away from his head. When Frank spoke, his voice was like coarse gravel. "Yeah, that's right," he growled from the back of his throat, voice low in challenge. "You pull that trigger, so do I. Your buddy in tights said you were a real swell guy. You really want both of our blood on your hands tonight?"

Bucky hesitated and made to speak, and it was all the distraction Frank needed. He moved fast, moving forward to pull the hand that held the pistol away yet again before the assassin could try pulling the trigger a second time. This time, Frank moved faster, his goal easier now that Bucky was distracted, and wrenched the gun from the curled grip in Bucky's flesh hand. The ammo clip slid out easily and was tossed across the room, the gun itself thrown the other way. Both landed with a loud clatter, and before Bucky could get any ideas, Frank did the same with his own pistol. Now they were on even ground.

Neither of them said a word, simply standing there, each catching their breath. Bucky’s first instinct was to snap Frank's neck and be done with it. He had his mission here, and nobody, especially not Castle, would distract him from it. But something in Frank’s gaze, perhaps the distinct lack of fear at Bucky’s breathing becoming so harsh and his gaze going cold, gave him pause. Frank’s gaze bore into his, unflinching, and Bucky had to admit that the man had gall to be able to stare down the Winter Soldier. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. And then, Bucky's cold expression cracked, and his breaths began to come out in a stuttered rhythm.

Frank swallowed dryly. He gave a small nod, eyes wandering as if uncertain. His expression wavered as the growl in his voice gave way to something softer. “That’s it,” the voice said, so uncharacteristically reassuring and gentle. “Nice and easy, Barnes.”

And then Frank stepped forward, laid a hand heavily on Bucky’s shoulder, and pulled him close.

Stunned, Bucky let himself enjoy the warm hold for a moment. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was Steve. At least, he did for a moment before he pulled free of the gentle grasp. And then he leaned back to deliver a weighted punch to the man’s jaw. “What the hell are you doing here, Frank?” Bucky demanded once he regained his composure, seething and more than ready to throw more punches. "How did you find me?"

For his part, now sprawled headlong across the floor, Frank gave a disbelieving laugh, rubbing harshly at his jaw. "Well, that's the last time I try to play nice, you piece of shit," he chuckled and wiped away the blood that pooled from his split lip, a crooked grin plastered across his face. He took his time to stand, and brushed himself off, still fighting against the laugh that twitched at the edge of his mouth. 

Bucky took the chance to wipe off some of his own blood, dripping down from his brow. Frank's casual demeanor grated his already worn nerves. "I'm serious. Start talking. Start with how in the hell you found me here."

Frank caught Bucky trying to edge his way back towards the pistol, and gave him a pointed look. The grin on his lips quickly died, only to be replaced with a more signature scowl. Only when Bucky stopped moving did Frank give a shrug, and grunted. "Followed you. If you were too distracted to notice a tail, that ain't my problem, Winter."

Bucky ignored the remark. "Then I would think it's fairly obvious why I'm here." The growing glare in Frank's eyes made it clear that another step towards the gun would be met with force, and Bucky wasn't in the mood. He strode over to one of the dining chairs and sat down heavily, still eyeing the pistol that lay in the corner of the room. "You're not going to stop me, you know. I came here to do what I have to. It'll be better for Steve and everyone if-"

"Yeah, well, I ain't Captain Tights," Frank snarled, dropping onto the chair across from Bucky, backlit by the stars outside. "I ain't here to coddle ya and tell you it's all gonna be alright. It's not. Shit's insane out there, and they want you dead." The grimace on Frank's features quirked tighter for a moment, and he gave a belligerent shrug. "Figured you might want someone on your side. Not give them exactly what they wanted."

Bucky shook his head. "You wasted your time. This is my choice. It's better for everyone this way."

"Yeah?" Frank growled. "That what you think?" The soldier stormed up to Bucky and got in his face, making him meet his eyes. Not a drop of moonlight reached them. "Man, I've been there. I know how fuckin' hard it is to take that gun out of your mouth and keep breathin'. But you got people, yeah? Tights seems to like ya, and so does the redhead. That's shit I never had. Not since my family got blown to shit. So if I gotta keep breathin', so do you." He stood up, something warring behind his eyes, but whatever won out had him sitting back down, arms crossed. "I got rations, man. I'll wait out whatever shit show you wanna play here." He shook his head, eyes narrowing. "But I ain't leavin' til you're comin' with me. I can wait as long as it takes, Barnes."

The speech had Bucky giving a wry smile. "Never would'a pegged you for the sentimental type." He ran a hand through his hair. "You know there's no coffee here, right? Heard you were fueled by caffeine. When's the nervous itching gonna start?"

Instead of answering, Frank reached into his jacket and slammed a tall black thermos against the table. He moved his hands back under the table so Bucky couldn't see his trigger finger going insane. It was taking all of his self control to continue talking instead of just knocking Bucky in the back of the head and locking him in the vibranium cuffs he had out front so he wouldn't do anything stupid. It just depended on how much of a hard time Barnes was going to give him. But from the state he'd found Bucky in when he got here, he knew he had to at least try to play it cool. The guy deserved that much, both as a fellow soldier and as a victim of everything he'd been through.

At Bucky's expression towards the thermos, Frank gave a coarse laugh, but a genuine one nonetheless. He was starting to see why Tights was so fond of the guy. "Always gotta be prepared. Thought you knew that. You were a sergeant, yeah?" He gave a fond smirk, swiping beneath his eyes as if to hide it, and nodded towards the thermos. "Got it from your buddy before I shipped out to get ya. The tin can." Frank's gaze lingered on Bucky, and he paused to gesture again towards the mug. Bucky found himself reaching out at the offer to take a sip from it, prickling under Frank's watchful eye. Only when the thermos was back down on the table did Frank speak. "He said it was your favorite. From before the war, or somethin'."

Bucky froze, jaw tensing. They were trying to lure him back out. He gave a weary sigh and dropped his head to his hands, content to hide behind them. Only when he had his emotions under control did he look back up. "Tell me the truth. Why the hell are you here? Why'd you follow me?" His fingers itched to get the pistol back in them and be done with this song and dance. From what he'd heard of Castle, he wasn't the talkative type, and Bucky had a growing suspicion that this act was for his benefit. Frank likely hadn't spoken this much to anyone in years. What he couldn't tell was if Castle was acting on his own terms by being here, or if there was someone behind this.

Frank was silent for a long minute. When Bucky shifted and looked back up to him, the growing moonlight turned the assassin’s pale skin to silver, and his eyes glowed equally vibrantly. Frank had asked himself that exact question every single minute, with every single step on his way down here. He reached up to rub at his chin, the rough stubble coarse against the calloused skin. "Don't know," he said, shaking his head. "Suppose I'm tired of the shit they're puttin' you through. Guy like you doesn't deserve that." His hand flew up to scratch at the back of his head, features screwing up into an annoyed expression. "And it's not sentiment. Call it loyalty or some other shit, but I don't let good men go down like dogs."

"Good men?" Bucky gave a tight sigh through his nose that was more of a growl. Frank's answer was hardly an answer at all. "I've killed hundreds of innocent people. Most didn't have a chance in hell of defending themselves." His gaze narrowed in questioning. "I'm a living weapon, Frank. What exactly does a guy like me deserve?"

Frank scratched the bridge of his nose, avoiding Bucky's gaze. And then, before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned forward and tangled his fingers in Bucky's chestnut hair, and pressed his lips against the assassin's. When he sat back down, Bucky's expression was impassive, but the moonlight illuminated the deep flush that crept up his neck and settled into his cheeks. Another boyish grin tugged at Frank's lips, but now the guarded look in his eyes dissipated, showing the genuine caring that so rarely broke free these days. "Somethin' like that, maybe?" He shrugged.

Bucky's tongue darted out, tasting the salt from the blood and the bitterness of the coffee that lingered and blended into a heady mixture. He looked away. Nobody had done that since the war. Especially not Steve, who was too convinced he'd break like glass if the blond so much as touched him. It was... nice.

When Bucky remained silent, Frank gave a weary sigh, and went on as if he hadn't just kissed him. "Listen. You're a smart guy. I'm sure you know by now that it's a little off that it was me who chased you down instead of your buddy. He offered me money, but I don't work like that." He took a small sip from the thermos as an excuse to gather his thoughts. "So you can get pissed and kill me here and now, and let them send however many guys it takes to come chase you down and lock you up when I don't report back in a week. Maybe they'll even plant a bullet in your skull like you wanted. Or, and I prefer this option, we shoot the shit for a few days, and find a solution that doesn't end with your brains painting the walls, yeah?" He lifted a hand up in loose surrender as the other brought the thermos to his lips. "Your call, man."

Bucky's face had gone impossibly cold. He didn't want to think about the implications of Steve sending Frank after him. Implications like that there was a chance that they knew exactly where he was. That they were taking this last choice away from him to suit their own agendas. "And here I thought someone was actually on my side. My mistake."

Instead of being offended, Frank shrugged. "Never said I took the money. Or that I'd give him the answer he wanted." He pushed the thermos towards Bucky. Bucky simply glanced back up to Frank's gaze and crossed him arms.

Frank tried hard not to roll his eyes. He wanted what was best for Bucky, and the assassin was the only one who could decide for himself what that was. Frank knew that Shield would be crawling up the walls, sniffing at every alley and shadow until they had him back. He could let the chase continue for who knew how long, or he could have Frank tell one small lie and have the chase over and done with. 

When Bucky stayed silent, Frank scrubbed his hands down his face. "How this ends is up to you, Winter. You want to keep being Shield's bitch? Or you want a chance to live a normal fuckin' life?"

"I'm unstable. And a threat. Normal's not in the cards for me."

Frank raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Those your words or theirs?"

"It's better for everyone if I just-"

"You said that already. I ain't buyin' it. Try again."

Bucky shook his head. "You don't get it. Every time I go cold, I don't know who I might've killed. Whose blood I wake up with on my hands. Every time it happens, I never even know if I'm gonna wake up, or if that's when I go down for good."

Frank shook his head. "Course you will. That shit ain't who you are, not really. That's what they made you." He looked away. "You can't just wake up somethin' like that in a guy, and expect it to stay. Not unless it's already there, y'know?"

Something lingered in Frank's eyes that made Bucky consider that the soldier knew more about it than he was letting on. "Doesn't change the fact that they're going to keep coming after me, keep killing people to try and gas me out."

"So bring the fight to them. Go down kicking."

"No." The firmness in Bucky's tone surprised even himself. "I'm not hurting anybody else."

"Except yourself," Frank growled back, raising his voice. "You're wearin' yourself down to the bone to try and stay in line. Lines that they made for you. And look where it got you." He gestured to the pistol that lay on the floor. "You don't wanna go back? Fine. But this ain't where your story ends. Not if I got anything to say about it. Not unless you put me in the ground first."

"Steve pay you for that, too?"

"Nope," Frank said, making the syllable pop. "Here all on my lonesome to kick your sorry ass if you do anything stupid." He paused, a thought occurring to him. "Nobody knows where you are, y'know. Just me. I could just go back and tell 'em that you died here. They'd tell the press, word'd get out to those racist fucks." He spat down on the floor. "And you'd be free to live in this, uh, palace, for as long as you wanted. Course, Tights'd miss ya and want proof."

Bucky nodded slowly. Then, he reached up and pulled off the dog tags that had been hidden under his shirt. "Give him these. He'll think it's real if he sees them."

Frank looked down at the gleaming metal. He knew how heavy of a decision this was for Bucky, and it wasn't his place to undermine it. He nodded. "Alright. If that's what you want, Winter. I'll do it."

"He's lived without me before. He can do it again." Bucky kept his gaze down, chewing at his cheek. "Might land a few punches on you for letting it happen, though. Since, y'know, you were the one who was supposed to sniff me out and keep me from dying."

Frank shrugged. "Been hit by worse." He pocketed the dog tags. "So, say I were to head out now. Back to the city to talk to Tights. How do I know you won't be a punk ass bitch and go for that pistol again? Do I gotta take it with me?"

Bucky was silent a moment, considering. He could still taste the coffee on his lips. "Not if I know you're coming back."

Frank nodded again, reading the uncertainty in the statement for what it was. "I can do that, yeah," he said softly.

"Good." Bucky gave a shaky sigh. "Make it quick. The less time I'm on my own, the better."

Without a word, Frank stood and made for the door. But Bucky found a question burning on his lips the moment Frank had turned away.

"Why'd you kiss me?"

Frank stopped midstep, at first unsure if he'd heard the question correctly. He turned slowly, eyes roaming Bucky's profile as the assassin kept his gaze glued to the table. "Because I wanted to," Frank said, his words deliberate to show there was no trace of hesitation or uncertainty within them. He made to leave once more, but paused at the door. "I can do it again, later, if you want."

"Yeah," Bucky whispered breathlessly. "I think I'd like that." Another pause, then, "Thank you."

Silently, slowly, Frank stepped back towards Bucky. He pressed a kiss to the top of the brunet's head, soothing down the scuffled hair. "Take care of yourself, Winter. I'll be back in a few."

And without another word, Frank walked away and shut the door behind him, leaving Bucky alone in the dark room with nothing but Frank's black thermos, and the taste of coffee and blood upon his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys have any ideas for more Bucky/Frank fics, let me know! <3


End file.
